


Just a Reminder

by Anonymous



Series: All the Best Things [1]
Category: Captain Underpants Series - Dav Pilkey, Captain Underpants: The First Epic Movie (2017)
Genre: Absolutely nothing violent or graphic but I thought I had better put a warning, Captain Underpants fic with ironically no appearance of said Captain, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, I don't know how to tag this, Mention of an animal's death (from natural causes), My writing style and subject choices are far from fitting, Sorry for being depressing on this fine day, Yooo this fandom is dying! D':, but since this happened anyway I thought I might as well put it here, just in case it might upset some readers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-20 22:14:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14903096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: George is mourning the loss of a pet and Harold wishes he could alleviate his pain somehow.





	Just a Reminder

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this seems a bit rushed. I'm in the middle of trying to organize my stuff, so I'm just gonna put this here and come back later to add what will hopefully pass as a more adequate author's note.
> 
> I'll just specify that the boys are in the fifth grade here, because I'm picking up the story not too far from where the books left it and planning on eventually taking it somewhere else. 
> 
> The disclaimer is in the notes section of the series this story will belong to, if I actually go through with it. To be honest, I'm not quite sure where I'm going with this.

The air was cold that morning, even for the month of October, and a thin gray veil hung high above Piqua, adding to the impression that winter would come early this year.

Harold suspected that something was not quite right when he got to a deserted sidewalk. On school days, he and George consistently met at the usual time between their neighboring houses. Unless the weather was bad enough that they had to be driven to school, the first one ready waited for the other outside, and Harold tended to be the latter. In fact, he was a few minutes late that morning, so George should have been there tapping his foot.

Harold shuffled over to stand in front of the Beards' residence, small drifts of copper leaves rustling beneath his feet as he debated whether he should knock at the door or continue on his way without his everyday companion. Maybe George had caught the flu that had been spreading at school and needed to stay in bed, he told himself as he resolved to wait just one more minute.

His hypothesis was proven wrong three quarters of a minute later, when the front door finally opened. However, George's slouched posture immediately gave his away his dejected mood. Harold approached him cautiously.

"George?" he called out softly as he met him halfway on the walkway across the front lawn. "What's wrong? Did something bad happen?"

The other boy looked down. "It's Porky. He didn't wake up this morning."

Memories of the gray tabby flooded Harold's mind and he gasped, hands flying up to his mouth in shock. Porky and Buckwheat had been inseparable, much like the iconic duo they had been named after. Whenever Harold had gone to George's place, the two cats had shown their keenness to see him by following him around and rubbing their heads against his shins, often snuggling up to him when they found him sitting in front of the television. He always spent a lot of time petting them, since he was passionate about animals but was only allowed to have goldfish at home.

"Oh, no!" he murmured sadly.

"I knew his health had been fragile for some time, but..." George trailed off, his vision blurring as tears quickly formed and threatened to fall.

"I'm so sorry," said Harold, feeling his own eyes sting.

His arms gently enfolded George, who leaned into his consoling touch. A good minute passed before he pulled away, sniffling.

"I'm gonna miss him," said George. "I wish we'd taken more pictures while we had him with us. The few I have to remember him by aren't very good."

Harold, who had been feeling quite helpless, unsure what he could say or do to comfort his grieving friend, was suddenly struck by an idea.

"Would you mind sending me one?" he asked. "Just... when you have the time."

George looked at him curiously but saw no reason to deny his request. After all, Harold had regularly enjoyed the cat's company for years and was obviously not unaffected by the news of his passing.

"Sure," he answered, before picking up his skateboard. "Now let's go, or I'm gonna get us into trouble for being late again."

He headed toward the sidewalk and Harold followed him closely. "I don't mind. We can always skip class if you don't feel so good."

George shook his head. "I appreciate it, bro, but we got exams coming up and we really can't afford to fail any major ones this year." Harold suspected that his friend's unusual reluctance was mostly for his sake, given that the previous year, George had managed to maintain an average B- while he had barely passed the fourth grade. The thought that they could have been a whole school year apart had made them the slightest bit more serious about their studies. "I'll be fine. It'll just take some time."

There were no pranks that morning, nor after lunch, and George was uncharacteristically quiet the entire day, to the suspicious but relieved astonishment of his teacher. When he excused himself after school and directly went home to arrange a modest memorial with his parents, Harold did not hold it against him. Anyway, there was something he wanted to do.

After hurriedly getting rid of his most pressing homework and being forced to swallow down a more consistent meal than the pack of Oreos he had tried to sneak upstairs, he printed a copy of the picture George had sent him and went straight to his room. He then took out his best colored pencils, the ones he kept for special artworks like greeting cards and comic book covers, and readied himself for a long evening of hard work.

.

"Are you okay? You look tired," George observed the next morning, when they met at their usual spot on the sidewalk—although truthfully, he did not look much perkier himself.

"Don't worry about it," Harold waved it off carelessly as he took off his backpack. "I've got something for you."

He opened up his school bag and pulled out the project he had stealthily spent more than half of the night laboring on. He presented the flat package to George, who took it wordlessly and carefully got it out of the tissue paper it had been wrapped in. His eyes widened as he beheld a nicely decorated cardboard frame enclosing what was undoubtedly by far the most detailed drawing Harold had done yet. It depicted a peaceful-looking Porky gazing up from what could easily be recognized as his favorite spot on the rug by the fireplace.

"I, uh, used the picture you sent me as reference to make sure I got his colors and proportions right," Harold explained, suddenly feeling unsure of himself. George's stunned expression was making him second-guess whether it had been a good idea or a misstep, especially when his features contorted as if he were in pain and he bent down to gingerly lay the frame onto the grass by the sidewalk. "It isn't much, and I know it's not nearly as good as a real photograph, but I thought if I could just make you at least one picture where you can see his face clearly and where he looks happy—"

He never got to finish that sentence, because the next thing he knew, George was lunging at him, briskly enough to make him stagger backward, and squeezing him so hard that he could hardly breathe.

"Thank you," George whispered into his shoulder. "It's beautiful."

In that moment, despite the sorrow and sympathy weighing on him, Harold felt his chest overflow with affection so ardent that he thought his heart might burst. As his friend's tears seeped through the collar of his coat, prompting him to instinctively tighten his hold, Harold swore to himself that whatever joys and pains may come, George could count on him to be there through it all and to do just about anything it took to bring the smile back to his face, the same way George had done for him countless times through all the years they had had each other's backs.

.

Later that night, George climbed onto his bed and unpinned the action movie poster he had on the wall, laying it aside to find another spot where to put it later. In its place, he hung Porky's portrait, where it stood out among several other drawings Harold had let him keep, mostly characters from the comics they made together.

Under Buckwheat's inquisitive gaze, he stepped back to contemplate the drawing, a precious reminder not only of his beloved pet companion, but also of his dearest friend's reliable presence in all circumstances of his life. As his eyes followed every minutely traced line, he could see how much care and effort Harold had poured into his work, blatant evidence of just how cherished George was, and through his heartache, he found himself smiling softly.

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies for the lack of talking toilets and other funny stuff in there. I'm just no good at writing action/humor.
> 
> This was technically the first of several drabbles (some of which are currently in progress) initially intended to constitute a single "story" with big time gaps in-between the chapters. However, I decided to post this one as a separate one shot instead, because I felt that it had a different, more innocent feel that did not fit so well with the general direction the other parts were taking. I wanted it to be able to stand on its own in case the rest turned out to be a complete fiasco and I had to scrap the whole thing.
> 
> Thanks for taking the time to stop by! I hope this was okay for a start. Please feel free to let me know what you think.


End file.
